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May 3, 2008
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Light is lifting, trees
sidestepping, circling
a clearing, in the centre
an abandoned house,
bareheaded, on its
knees before an
oblivious sky.
Fire’s rough tongue
has melted glass,
flamed wood to smoke
leaving a husk of
scorched stone.
Now grass grows in
empty geometries,
insects sift detritus and
the wind that fanned
the fire mouths an
apologetic sigh.
by Jo Hemmant
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Categories: Nature in the Cracks
Jo Hemmant
qarrtsiluni 